Solace of my Soul
by LadyDeb1970
Summary: When a case hits too close to home, Frank Donovan seeks. . .and finds. . .comfort with a very important person in his life.


Disclaimer: The concept of UC: UnderCover and its characters (Frank, Cody, Monica, Alex, Jake, etc) do not belong to me. . .that honor and privilege goes to Shane Salerno. The following characters, however, do belong to me: Joanna Donovan, Alicia Donovan, Aurora Donovan, Marina Donovan and the Masters family.  
  
This is my first UC fic, and the first time I've posted on fanfiction.net. So, I'm still struggling with the formatting. Please be patient with me.  
Her cell rang just as the last student departed from her class. She pulled the phone from her jacket pocket, recognizing the number as she pressed yes. Even if she hadn't seen the number, she would have known the voice as her caller said softly, 'Giovanna. . .I need to meet with you.' She recognized the tone of voice as well. And well she should. But she eased the last of her belongings into her tote bag and began walking back toward her office.  
  
'When and where?' she asked, already planning what she had to do. She had an emergency bag in her car for emergencies, but she also used it for special reasons. She flashed a fellow professor a quick, vague smile, not realizing until she was past that it was someone she didn't even like. Oh well. These things happened. Everyone knew enough to keep their mouths shut when she was on her cell.  
  
'The Avalon. Can you make it in thirty minutes?' her caller asked, and she laughed softly. That was only five minutes away. The Avalon it was. She ended the call, gathered what she needed from her office, then headed toward the Avalon. She didn't have office hours at the moment, and didn't have another class for another four hours. One of the perks of being a professor. . .the schedule was flexible. She needed that flexibility.  
  
She drove to the Avalon and spotted the car of her companion. There were only two rooms nearby, and only one with lights on. Of course he would already be there. . .he wouldn't leave something like this to chance. She smiled to herself and walked to the door of the room, lightly rapping on the door. She barely even had time to say hello, before she was caught in a breathtaking embrace, followed by a searing kiss. The door was kicked shut, then she was body slammed onto the waiting bed.  
  
Not a word was spoken for several moments. . .they were both too busy devouring each other to bother speaking, and words got in the way in any event. But the kiss was broken, as they both gasped for breath. A whispered plea went straight to her heart, 'I need you.' She didn't answer, just started shimmying out of her clothes. . .not an easy task with a six foot two man pinning her to the bed, but she was nothing if not resourceful. Eight years of marriage, plus their various crises had helped with her education in that respect. She resumed the kiss, sensing that he needed to feel her. Not just be inside her, but to feel her.  
  
The pantyhose were the first to go, helped along by two pairs of hands. She whispered, 'I can get them, you're wearing too many clothes.' There was a soft laugh. Goddess, she had been so afraid he wouldn't even be able to laugh! The last time she had this kind of call, they hadn't even been able to make love. . .he just lay in her arms and wept. She had held him, running her fingers through his black hair. Then this was bad. . .just not disastrous.  
  
'I love you, Joanna,' came the soft answer, a whisper against her lips. Then the lips changed directions, brushing lightly across her forehead. Joanna, Giovanna, Jo, Jo-Jo, sometimes even Jody if he was feeling truly mischievous, and sometimes my angel in their moments of intimacy. So many names for a five foot three inch, thirty-two year old woman. She had almost as many for him. But then, they had known each other for more than twenty years.  
  
'I love you, Francis,' she answered softly. I love you so much, it hurts to breathe sometimes. When you're playing with the girls, even though you're about to drop from exhaustion. Joanna couldn't remember how many times they had fallen asleep in the middle of the floor, six year old Alicia curled up against her father. Joanna would come back into the living room, and find her husband and oldest daughter sound asleep, after putting the baby to bed.  
  
Once Alicia was safely in her own big girl bed, Joanna would face the task of getting her husband to their bed. Not an easy task with a man as big as her husband. But few things in this world, or in their marriage, had ever been easy. Which was why Professor Joanna Donovan cherished the time she did have with her husband of eight years. He didn't have a job like her own. There were weeks where she barely saw him. But he was hers, she loved him desperately, and she would move heaven, hell, and earth for him.  
  
He would do the same for her. . .he had done the same for her. Joanna often wondered how she managed to win a man like Frank Donovan. He was breath-takingly handsome, just as courageous, as well as brilliant. . .and while Joanna knew his team didn't know that side of him, he could be the most tender, gentle person alive. Right up until the time you tried to harm what was his, until you crossed him. . .and then he would become your worst nightmare.  
  
She held onto him, because that was what he needed. She would get what she needed, even as he did. She needed to hear him whispering her name, needed his arms around her, his face against her neck. She needed to run her fingers through his hair. Needed to remember that she was Frank Donovan's woman, and he was her man. She needed him inside her, all around her. Some of the other married women in her department could have never understood these frantic couplings at a motel. . .would have thought it was cheap and tawdry.  
  
But they weren't married to a federal agent. They knew when they would next see their husband. . .didn't live with the fear that their husbands wouldn't come home to them. And every night, Joanna said a silent prayer when she knew her husband was safe. Whether it was when he slipped into their bed beside her and drew her into his arms, or when the pager at her bedside would beep with a text message, I'm okay, I love you. As long as she knew. Then there was no more time, or need, for words, for thoughts, because sensation and desire, passion, had overridden her mind, leaving only her soul and her body.  
  
Their passion was spent, and her husband buried his face against her shoulder. Joanna ran her hand gently over his dark hair, whispering, 'Do you want to talk about it?' As she expected, he shook his head, then shifted on the bed, until she was cradled against his body. She lay her head down on his chest, gently stroking his arm and shoulder. He didn't usually talk about work. Not unless something terrible had happened, and the grief needed a release.  
  
Joanna Donovan knew what was said about her husband. That he was cold. . .unfeeling. Heartless. He was none of those things. But it wouldn't do for people to know the truth. They had to believe that, because it was one of the ways Frank Donovan protected his wife and two daughters, as well as himself. But Joanna knew that the wounds went deep within her husband's heart, and she did what she could to ease that hurt.  
  
After several moments, he said softly, his accent thickening ever so slightly, as it always did when he was upset, 'I sometimes feel guilty, Giovanna. I take and take from you. . .and I often feel that I give nothing in return. You take the hurt from me. . .and you ask for so little in return. It was the same when we were children.' Joanna smiled faintly and shifted in her husband's arms until she could kiss him.  
  
'I'm a cop's wife, Francis,' she answered softly, 'I knew the risks going in. I'm a cop's wife, a cop's daughter. And if you think you haven't given me anything, you're dead wrong. You have given me more than I ever dreamed a shy, unpopular little girl could ever hope to have. I have two beautiful little girls. . .who, thank the goddess, look more like their father than their mother. . .I have a husband who has moved heaven, hell, and earth for me. I snatch the moments I can with my husband, but I never take him for granted.'  
  
She stared into the brown eyes, continuing, 'I remember who held my hand when my parents were buried. I remember who sat at my bedside and wouldn't leave me after the incident.' There was a flash of pain in the dark eyes, but Joanna wasn't about to let her husband shoulder the blame for that. He had been guilt-ridden when she was shot. It was no one's fault, no one except the shootist. But her love had a hard time accepting that.  
  
'I remember who taught me how to fight and defend myself. I remember who held me every time I had a nightmare after Zach was killed,' Joanna continued, her voice cracking as she referred to her brother. . .older by ten months, her Irish twin. Killed the year earlier when two planes plowed into the Twin Towers. Joanna had watched her brother die on tv, and wept helplessly in her husband's arms. Frank hadn't gone into work that day. She was sure his new team had been happy about that. Then again, they didn't know him the way she did.  
  
She again looked into her husband's eyes, saying softly, 'So don't tell me that you haven't given me anything, Francis Sebastian Donovan. You've given me everything I've ever dreamed of, ever wanted, and then some. Do I wish sometimes that I had more of you? Hell, yes! There are times when I resent your job, resent your team, resent that niggling little doubt in my mind when you don't come home at night. But between you and peace of mind, there is no competition. I wouldn't give you up for the world. You, or our girls. Understood?'  
  
A soft smile touched his mouth as he replied, 'Crystal. I love you, Jo.' Ahhh, much better. Now they were off the more formal Joanna, and back to the more mundane Jo, which actually suited her personality much better. He reached out and caressed a strand of dark brown hair back behind one ear. He kissed her lightly, adding, 'You're beautiful, you know that? You say you're glad the girls look like me. . .but you're beautiful.'  
  
'No, m'love,' she replied, grinning, 'you're the beautiful one. You should hear my students talking about ?Professor D's hunky man.' It's quite entertaining!' She laughed as her husband blushed. It was so cute. Her husband was a truly devastating man, especially when he smiled, and he was blushing like a kid right now. She gave him a wicked smile, continuing, 'Let's see. . .you've got chocolate eyes, and you know what an aphrodisiac chocolate is. And how was it that one of my students put it? Oh yes. . .a mouth made for kissing.'  
  
She leaned over and kissed that mouth once more, slipping her fingers through the black hair, now tinged with silver at his temples, before laying her head once more on his chest. It worried her only a little. . .she was grateful there was just that tinge, after what she put him through when she was shot. Joanna had silver streaks in her own dark brown hair. Several of those silver strands came about because her constant worry for him, and the stress of physical therapy in the days, weeks, and months after her own shooting.  
  
She still couldn't believe her husband had beached himself, to take care of her and Alicia. That was part of the reason. . .Jo found out only hours after she gave birth to their second daughter, Aurora, that Frank had lost two members of his team in the same shooting which almost killed Jo and the then-unborn Aurora. There had been a part of her that was angry with him, for never telling her about that. She should have known, so she could be strong for him.  
  
But he wanted her to save her strength for herself and for Aurora. Strangely enough, Frank drew strength from little Alicia. From her love and her faith, from her smile. But there was only so much strength a small girl could provide to her father, and only a few weeks after Jo was finally on her feet, Frank finally collapsed, physically and emotionally exhausted. He spent the next two months recovering his own strength, until the death of John Keller.  
  
Frank hadn't wanted to take the job at first. At the time, they were living in a small town outside Charleston, South Carolina, where Jo and Zach grew up after the death of their father and Jo's mother. They had retreated to the house where the siblings came of age, after the shooting and Aurora's birth. Jo convinced her husband this was something which had to be done. Frank was a cop at heart, and he needed to return to the field.  
  
It wouldn't be easy. . .they both knew that. But Jo loved her husband too much to watch him shut himself off. He had been shattered by her fight for survival, as well as the loss of his two team members. It had shattered his heart, and shaken his confidence in himself, never mind that it wasn't his fault. This new assignment was exactly what he needed. What they both needed. It had been hell on him in the beginning, and at first Jo wondered if she had done the right thing in persuading him to take the job. It wasn't just the difficulty of taking over someone else's team, someone who had been greatly loved. There was the added complication of his very first case. . .a kidnapped child. Those cases always tore out Frank's heart, even before Alicia was born six years earlier. Frank shook in her arms that night, when the child was safely returned to his father. Not long after, as Jo got her schedule for the coming year and shared it with her husband, they began meeting at the Avalon. Frank missed his wife. . .and Jo missed her husband.  
  
She felt a gentle kiss on the top of her head as Frank murmured, 'I could stay here with you forever.' Jo just smiled, snuggling closer. She knew. She felt the same way. It wasn't just the sex that she missed. . .phenomenal as that was. . .but the simple pleasure of holding her husband and being held by him. Frank continued, 'We have another ninety minutes before we have to head back to the real world.'  
  
'So,' Joanna said, 'we can either make love again. . .or just sleep for a while. We could talk. . .take a shower together. . .' Frank laughed softly, and Jo smirked, quite pleased with herself for making him laugh. She turned in his arms, until she could kiss the hollow of his throat, drawing a soft sigh from him. Quite encouraged, Jo rolled on top of him, slipping her fingers through his hair as she lowered her mouth to his.  
  
His hands slid oh so cooperatively to the small of her back, his thumbs lightly stroking the column of her spine as their lips met over and over again. Jo settled herself along the length of his body, the familiar heat springing up between them once more. She heard about the seven-year itch. After eight years, that fire was still burning between them. He could make her melt with just a look. . .and he swore that she only had to smile at him.  
  
Which still amazed her. She had always known that she was important to Frank, of course. They had grown up together, been friends since they were ten years old. But it wasn't until Jo and Aurora almost died that the young professor knew how much her husband loved her. If she closed her eyes, she could hear him weeping, begging her not to leave him. . .begging, pleading, demanding that she fight.  
  
That demanding part, his team would have recognized. But the blood- covered, weeping man, cradling his barely conscious wife in his arms in the middle of the kitchen floor. . .they would have never recognized him. Jo herself hadn't recognized him, through the haze of pain and blood loss. But he had been there, only seconds after the shot was fired. It was his own shot that took down the shootist. There had been no time to think, he admitted later. He only saw the gun being pointed at his family, the blood soaking his wife's clothes. . .and he reacted.  
  
Frank Donovan didn't simply react. He was careful and cautious, plotting out each detail, planning to the smallest item. It was how he had built his reputation, in part, that methodical planning. He didn't react. Not her Irish-Italian husband, not the man who feared his own temper. He had good reason to. If not for Jo. . .and the baby. . .Frank admitted that he would have pumped their assailant full of bullets. The rage which had swept through him, when he saw his dead friend and badly injured wife, when he saw his terrified little daughter, was unlike anything he had ever felt before. And that was before he even realized that the shootist was one of his own team, the woman he had thought was his wife's best friend. Jo wasn't to understand what he meant, until the previous year. When she watched in horror as the building where her brother had worked for the last five years just. . .disintegrated. Then a rage, a hatred like she had never felt before, burst through her soul, almost searing her with its intensity. Frank told her that Alicia had helped to keep him anchored. . .Alicia and the knowledge that Jo and Aurora still needed him. Frank, in turn, anchored Jo as she watched her brother die, along with more than three thousand others.  
  
Jo forced herself back to the present, and stared down into her husband's dark eyes. She slipped her fingers lightly through his black hair, then made her decision. She kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. For some reason, every time she thought of that godawful day, she had this need for her husband. Maybe it was that Irish part of her. . .screw you, death. Affirming life in the middle of death.  
  
Frank lay very still under her, barely even able to draw breath. Jo shifted ever so slightly, then trailed kisses along first one side of his neck, then the other. Growing pressure against one thigh told her that she was on the right path. As did the soft moans which set her blood to burning. And again, she shifted, drawing a hoarse groan. She smiled down at her husband, whispering, 'I intend to have my way with you, m'love. Do you have any objections?'  
  
Against her own chest, Jo could feel how her husband's heart rate picked up. And though his breathing was shallow, he still managed to force out, 'Would it matter if I did?' Jo thought about it for a minute, then shook her head very slowly, grinning fiendishly all the while. Frank gave a sound that was half laugh and half groan, whispering, 'Well, then, have away, my wife. Just don't kill me.'  
  
'Ahhh. . .now where would the fun be in that?' Jo breathed, leaning in to claim her man once more. She brushed her lips lightly against his, then began to slowly trail kisses down his body. The corners of his mouth, his forehead, his chin. . .the line of his jaw. Down the column of his throat to the hollow which had always been such a sweet spot for him. She had discovered that quite by accident in the first year of their marriage.  
  
'No. . .fun. . .at all,' Frank gasped out, then moaned as her fingers slipped to his waist. It was a favorite ploy of hers. She stroked his sides, her thumbs caressing the ridges of his hips, as she peppered him with kisses. She barely heard him breathe, 'So help me, if Cody calls, I *will* kill him this time.' Jo laughed and proceeded to drive all thoughts of Cody, Alex, Monica, Jake, and the job right out of her husband's mind. By the time she was finished with him, he seemed barely capable of even drawing breath.  
  
She, herself, was breathing heavily. Jo wearily slipped down, until her head rested on Frank's shoulder, whispering, 'We're getting entirely too good at this quickie business. At least I save my fishnet stockings for our official dates.' That prompted laughter from her husband, after he had accidentally ripped one pair while trying to get them off her. Jo grinned, snuggling against him, but asked in all seriousness, 'Promise me, Frank. . .the next time you have a few days to yourself, you'll spend one day with me and the girls, and one day with just me. You know Mama Marina would love to get the girls for a while.' She closed her eyes as he nodded. 'Promise. Get some sleep now,' Frank whispered. Jo sighed, nodding as she snuggled ever closer to him. She dozed lightly in his arms, comforted by the warmth of his body and the caressing hand slipping through her hair. He whispered something to her in Italian. Ever since she was shot, he had done this. He saved the Italian for his deepest emotions, as if English didn't quite say what he needed to say.  
  
'I love you,' she said softly, right before she slipped off to sleep. Her dreams were more pleasant than usual, disjointed memories of the first time they made love. . .holding Alicia in her arms after her oldest daughter was born, and seeing the wonderment in her husband's eyes when he held their infant daughter. But real life, as always, intruded. . .first, when she was awakened by her husband gently removing himself from her arms.  
  
She lay still as he slipped from the bed, lightly kissing her forehead, and about two minutes after that, she heard the shower running. She sighed, lying back against the pillows, and was almost able to go back to sleep. But it was then that Frank's cell phone rang, the one which he used at work. She sat up, checking the caller id. The number wasn't familiar, but five would get her ten, it was Cody. Frank emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
He nodded, a mischievous smile curving his lips, and Jo reached over to answer, saying in a soft Italian accent she had picked up from Mama Marina, 'Hello?' Frank continued to towel his hair dry. . .Lord and Lady, she wished he would let his hair grow out to the length it was when they were in college! She heard in the background someone shushing someone else, and Jo looked at Frank expectantly. He mouthed, 'Go for it.' Grinning impishly, Jo put some impatience into her voice, repeating, 'Hello? Look, if this is a crank call. . .'  
  
'Uhm. . .is this Giovanna? My name is Cody, I'm trying to reach my boss, Frank Donovan,' stuttered a voice on the other end. Jo just grinned, pulling her knees up to her chest as she heard Cody blurt out, 'Yes, it's a woman! She asked me if this was a prank! No, Jake, she sounded really pissed! Well, right before he left, Donovan said something about meeting some woman named Giovanna. Hell, I don't know. . .if it was anyone else but Donovan. . .'  
  
That got Jo's Irish up. Talk about her husband as if he was some sort of robot. . .not on HER watch! Frank lifted an eyebrow at her questioningly, but didn't stop her. Instead, he covered his hand with his mouth, laughing helplessly as Jo gasped Frank's name, then began to moan, as if in the throes of passion. She heard Cody blurt out, 'HOLY TOLEDO! Jake, you gotta hear this! It sounds like the boss is screwing her silly!' Apparently, he wasn't heard just by Jo and his teammates, for Frank slid down the wall, still laughing silently.  
  
Jo covered the mouthpiece of the phone, still listening intently as the two young men argued about what Cody was hearing. She couldn't hear either of the woman, and figured they were either in shock, or deriving too much entertainment from listening to their male counterparts. Frank mouthed to her, 'You are soooo evil!' Jo just responded with an impish bob of the head and an equally impish grin. Her husband finally pushed himself to his feet, still shaking with laughter, and came to sit beside her on the bed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing his ear against the phone. And once he could speak with even a somewhat straight face, Frank took the phone from her and said in a curt voice, 'Donovan.' However, his eyes continued to sparkle with laughter. Jo leaned back into her husband's arms as he continued, 'Yeah. I'll be there in ten. Yeah.' And that was the end of that conversation, at least. He leaned over and kissed her, murmuring, 'You are an evil, evil woman, Joanna Masters Donovan.' Jo simply gave him a smug smile.  
  
'And you wouldn't want me any other way, Agent Donovan,' she whispered, brushing her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up from the bed until she was pressed against his body. She held on for dear life, feeling his strength surround her. His lips left hers and he buried his face against her neck. She said nothing. Words only got in the way at times. This was one of those times.  
  
'You are the solace of my soul, Giovanna. You always have been. And if it takes the rest of my life, I will make it up to you. . .for never telling you, until you were shot. Until I almost lost you,' Frank whispered. Jo tightened her arms around him, wishing above all else at that moment that she had held her tongue. True enough, she had been half out of it when she had asked Frank why he had been so scared.  
  
But her husband had a hard time forgiving himself when he let people down. And to his too-honorable mind, he had failed her, not only when the traitor shot her, but also by never telling her what she meant to him. Never mind that part of the problem was Jo's own insecurity, her difficulty in understanding why a man like Frank Donovan would want her. To her husband's way of thinking, he had failed her.  
  
Jo had finally given up on trying to convince him otherwise. Instead, she whispered, 'That's over now, mi amor. I know now what I mean to you, and I will never forget that.' She had only to think of the previous year. . .of the scalding tears she cried when she realized she would never see Zach again. And Frank holding her through all of it. He didn't need fancy words to tell her what was in his heart.  
  
It was there all along. She just had to listen for it. That wasn't the only thing she had to listen for. Frank's pager went off. . .Jo could feel it buzzing. Her husband groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder. He swore under his breath in English, Italian, and a language which didn't sound familiar to her. He growled, 'I'm gonna kill Cody. I'm gonna kill him for this, and I'll kill him if he says a word about. . .'  
  
Jo giggled, silencing him with a kiss. She whispered against his lips, 'Shhh, don't do that. Will I see you tonight?' She thought again, about how different her life was from the other women in her department. Probably from other women in the entire college. She didn't always see her husband at the supper table, but that made his appearances at home for the meal all the sweeter. But he was worth it. Every smile, every kiss, every touch. It was worth it.  
  
'As your father always used to say, Lord willing and the creek don't rise,' came Frank's wry response. Jo giggled, now able to laugh at reminders of her father. And yes, he had said just that on more than one occasion.  
  
Frank grinned broadly down at her, kissing the tip of her nose, and said, 'I will do everything within my power to be home for dinner tonight. . .tuck the girls into bed. . .and after that, well....we'll just see what happens.' His expression told her exactly what he meant, even though she had already figured that part out. He kissed her one last time, then released her reluctantly. He picked up what he needed. . .paused at the door. . .and looked back.  
  
Jo sat up straight in bed, pulling the covers around her, and pressed her lips to her fingertips, lightly blowing him a kiss. Frank caught it with his free hand, closing his fingers around something that didn't seem to be there. He gave her that smile of his. . .the one that never failed to melt her. . .and whispered, 'I love you.' They stared at each other, then Frank reluctantly opened the door and returned to his team, and to the case they were working on.  
  
Jo pushed herself away from the bed. She had to shower, and get dressed. Her next class was coming up in just an hour. As she shuffled into the bathroom to get her shower running, she found herself blinking back tears. Keep him safe, goddess, she silently prayed, keep my love safe, at least until I can hold him once again. Frank didn't belong to her goddess, but she did. . .and her goddess always heard her prayer.  
. . .  
'Situation?'  
  
Four guilty heads popped from around Cody's computer, and Frank bit back a smile. He still couldn't believe Jo had done that. Yes. . .actually, yes, he could. His Giovanna had a wicked sense of humor. Still, there was a part of him which wished he had actually seen Cody's face when Jo went into her little act. She wasn't that vocal when they made love. . .not in reality. Gasps and cries, yes. . .screaming her lungs out? No.  
  
'Uhm. . .well. . .you see. . .' Cody stammered. Alex slapped him in the back of his head, and Cody blurted out, 'We got the results back. There are only three warehouses within the area which fit the description. This is what we came up with.' Frank circled around until he was looking at the computer screen. Three warehouses. . .that was much better than the original number, especially since a little girl's life was in danger.  
  
Emily Chen, age five. Only six months younger than his own Alicia. Their perp wasn't in a mood to negotiate. . .instead, he would play a cat and mouse game with them. With a little girl's life. Frank had sworn, when little Emily was first kidnapped, that if anything happened to that child, he would make it his life's mission to destroy the bastard who had taken her.  
  
His mind was already shifting into what his wife had always called his predator mode. She had a number of other names for it, as well, but that was the one which Frank preferred. With no small amount of regret, Frank forced his mind away from his wife. He needed to concentrate on Emily right now, and on making sure she didn't get hurt. Without looking around, Frank asked, 'Monica. . .your thoughts?'  
  
'This one. . .because it's the last place we would think to look. It doesn't fit the normal profile. He'll expect us to go to one of these other two,' came the profiler's response. Frank nodded thoughtfully. That was his own belief. However, when a little girl's life on the line, he couldn't stick to simple gut instinct. Monica continued, 'Further, I checked into his previous kidnappings. He likes to think he's smarter than the police, by changing the pattern. . .but there's a pattern to that change.'  
  
Oh, very good! Frank looked at Monica, who continued, 'The only thing I question is, where she is. That's a big warehouse, Donovan, and a very little girl. He's just unpredictable enough to leave her in plain sight. Or he could find the smallest janitor's closet in that place and stick her there.' Frank nodded again, staring intently at the three warehouses. The pattern would have dictated one of the other warehouses, but Frank knew they couldn't be locked into that pattern, or they would miss something important.  
  
'Cody. . .see if you can get schematics of that warehouse, blueprints, anything. And see if he has any ties to it, whether through employment or any other ties,' Frank told the computer expert. The young man nodded, and Frank added, remembering something his wife had gone through while she was in college, 'Also, if any of his employers have been temp agencies, see if they provide employees to that particular warehouse.'  
  
'Will do, boss man,' Cody chirped. The other three began to return to their own work, and Monica shot a warning look at the young computer expert. One which he ignored, saying, 'Hey Donovan. . .uhm. . .just who is Giovanna? You said before you left, that you were meeting with Giovanna. . .who is she?' Frank thought back, trying to remember if he had mentioned Jo's nickname to Cody before he left, while Cody was still trying to get the possible locations narrowed down.  
  
Frank had been restless. The other three had, for all intents and purposes, shooed him out of the Nest. He was making them crazier than usual, and Frank was making himself crazy. He called Jo on her cell phone, knowing she had just left class. That was it. He hadn't told Cody about Giovanna, but he had mentioned her name on the phone. Damn! That left Frank Donovan with an important decision to make.  
  
He almost told Cody the truth. Almost said, 'Giovanna is a nickname for my wife, Joanna.' But then, an image flashed through his mind. Hearing the shots from inside his house. . .running like the very hounds of hell were after him. . .to find his second lying in a pool of ever-growing blood on Frank's floor. Alicia was in the corner, her brown eyes wide with fear. . .and Joanna slumped against the lower cabinets, blood soaking her blue maternity blouse. She had been shot in the upper chest, and lost blood which both she and Aurora needed.  
  
Shot by her best friend. . .or so Frank had thought. Her best friend and one of his best agents. Frank had killed her, as she prepared to finish his wife and unborn child. One shot. And then Frank hadn't given her another glance. That day had ended the existence of the Frank Donovan who attended parties with his agents, who had let down his guard around with the agents whom he supervised.  
  
Letting down his guard had almost gotten his wife and daughters killed. Perhaps he was being overprotective, but that wasn't a chance he was willing to take just yet. It wasn't even that he distrusted Cody or the others. But he had. . .he needed more time. Which was why he simply replied, 'Giovanna is a woman who helps me from time to time.' Which wasn't exactly a lie. Mentally apologizing to his wife, he added, 'She has a warped sense of humor.'  
  
Which also wasn't a lie, but it was better than them thinking she was a prostitute, or worse. He wouldn't tolerate that, or any other kind of slander against his wife, and it would be the logical conclusion between Jo's antics (which were funny. . .he still wished he could have seen Cody's face), and his own statement. Cody muttered behind him as Frank headed to his office, 'At least she has a sense of humor, warped or not.'  
  
'I heard that,' Frank said without looking over his shoulder. He went into his office and closed the door quietly. His time with Jo had settled him, allowed him to focus. But before he started focusing on the paperwork which still had to be filed, Frank slid open his desk drawer, the one which contained the picture of Jo and the girls. It was taken the previous year, only weeks before Zach's death. Jo was laughing, holding up Aurora while Alicia hung on Mommy's back, her arms wrapped around Jo's shoulders from behind.  
  
Footfall alerted him that he had a visitor, and he called out, 'Yes, Monica?' The door opened and closed, and he closed the desk drawer as Monica entered the office. She was looking at him with a peculiar expression, one that Frank couldn't quite read. That, alone, made him nervous. He was usually very good at reading his team, especially Jake, Cody, and Alex. Monica was usually more difficult. . .but he could still read her.  
  
'Giovanna's not just a woman who helps you sometimes, is she?' Monica asked without preamble. Frank simply raised his eyebrows at that, and Monica continued, 'C'mon, Donovan. There were several seconds before you answered Cody. . .and your mask is slipping. I saw a helluva lot of emotions in your eyes. Fear, rage. This Giovanna. . .she's someone you love very much. Isn't she?'  
  
While the last sentence was phrased as a question, it was actually a statement. Frank started to deny it, and Monica closed the door behind her firmly. She walked over to the desk and put her hands firmly down, saying softly, 'Listen to me, Donovan. You know Cody has been trying to get into your file, ever since you arrived. That's no secret. You're something of a mysterious figure, and damn good at what you do. I don't care about the agent right now, I'm asking about the man. And I'm also not asking you to tell us why you beached yourself. . .I'm just asking about Giovanna.'  
  
'Giovanna is the reason I beached myself, Monica. I. . .' Frank began. He closed his eyes, struggling for control once more. He had to be in control, if he wanted to protect his people as well as his wife. He began again, saying softly, 'There was a time, Monica, when I could relax among my people. When my agents were like my family. Until I made a mistake. One that almost cost Giovanna her life, and so much more.'  
  
He looked at Monica, saying softly, 'You ask me who Giovanna is? She is. . .? Frank searched for the words which would explain what Jo was to him, what she meant to him, without giving too much away. In the end, the only words he could find weren't even English, but Italian. He said, 'Giovanna is il solace della mia anima.' The solace of my soul. 


End file.
